Beyond the Surface
by loveadubdub
Summary: Drabbles, not-so-drabbles, random, random!  Help to get my mind unblocked.
1. Truth

**TRUTH**

**Prompt: Puck/Rachel- Truth or Dare**

… … …

It happens like something out of a movie.

She invites him over to work on a project for glee, but he gets distracted about twenty minutes in and says he needs a break. She knows him well enough to realize that if she doesn't give him the requested break, he'll turn on her and be totally useless in the project. He'll start messing up on purpose just to piss her off, and he'll succeed. It'll turn into a huge argument, and then he'll make fun of her for being too uptight and caring about "stupid shit" too much. And that'll just make her even angrier.

So she lets him take his break.

He goes downstairs to watch TV, and she stays in her room because she has no interest in whatever sports show or cable porn he'll inevitably turn on. She lays down just to rest her eyes for a few minutes, thinking that she'll give him fifteen minutes and then force him to practice for at least half an hour.

And, of course, she falls asleep.

She wakes up because her phone is ringing, and she answers it still half-asleep. It's her dad, and he's telling her that they're stuck in Cincinnati because the roads are too bad to travel until at least morning. She asks him what he's talking about, and he asks if she hasn't even looked outside. She hasn't obviously, so she gets up and goes to her window. It's dark outside, but the street lamps show nothing but white all over the yard and the street. Fat flakes are still falling quickly, and Rachel just tells her dad to be safe and that she'll be fine.

She didn't even know it was supposed to snow, but it's not as if she really keeps up with the weather reports all that closely. She's not a huge fan of snow, has never really felt its supposed 'magic,' and tends to think of it more as a hindrance than anything else. She goes downstairs because she's thirsty, forgetting all about the fact that she's not alone in the house. Because she doesn't remember, she almost has a heart attack when she sees Puck sprawled across her couch asleep while ESPN blares highlights from that evening's games. She grabs the remote and turns the volume down, wondering how she didn't hear all this noise upstairs. As soon as the volume changes on the TV, though, Puck's eyes fly open, and he looks at her.

She's not surprised. She's lived with two men her entire life- she _knows _how to wake them up.

"It's snowing," she says simply, and she sits down in one of the armchairs and pulls her feet underneath her. "Everything's covered."

He sits up and turns around to pull the blinds down behind him. Then he groans and lets his head fall back against the couch. "I fucking hate snow."

"My parents are stuck in Cincinnati. They said they can't get out until at least tomorrow."

He groans again. Then he shakes his head and stands up. "I gotta go before it gets worse."

"Noah, you can't drive in this!" She stands up, too, and he just looks at her. "The roads are covered! You'll die!"

And because he didn't get to make fun of her for practicing too much, he laughs at her now. "It's just a little snow. I have four-wheel drive. I'll be fine."

He reaches into his pocket to check for his keys and then heads for her front door. She goes after him, trying to convince him not to take the chance. He keeps shooting back the fact that it's probably all dry snow and that it hasn't had time to freeze yet and that his truck is more than capable of making it the six miles to his house. She shivers when he opens the door, and the wind blows several snowflakes into the house.

"Maybe we'll get a snow day tomorrow," he says. "Lock the door, so no serial killers come in and rape you or anything."

"Noah!"

He laughs again, but then he's down the steps of her front porch and across the driveway to his truck. She's annoyed beyond belief and slams the door in frustration. She locks it a second later and silently curses him for making jokes. She can see through the blinds that he's brushing snow off his windshield as his car warms up, and she's actually worried about him but more annoyed that he's putting himself in danger purposely.

She drops the blinds and goes to the kitchen to get something to drink. The second she opens the fridge, though, the lights flicker rapidly, and then everything goes black. She screams because she's shocked and also a little dramatic.

And then, because she has no pride, she hurries back to the front door, pulls it open, and runs outside in her socks, screaming Puck's name until he stops knocking snow off his car and gives her a crazy look.

"The power's out!" she says desperately, screaming a little bit so that she doesn't have to run all the way down the driveway. She's already losing feeling in her feet and wonders how quickly hypothermia can set in.

He obviously can't hear what she's saying because he walks back over to her, squinting at her through the snow.

"The power's out," she repeats, and he just shakes his head.

"So?"

"So I can't stay here alone in a snowstorm with no power! What if someone breaks in?"

He rolls his eyes. It's his own fault for putting the idea in her head. She knows her lower lip is protruding and wonders if it works on other people the same way it works on her dads.

She doesn't think it does.

"You're a big girl, Rachel. Time to stop being afraid of the dark."

"I'm not afraid of the dark, I'm afraid of serial killers!"

And again, his eyes roll. "There are no serial killers in Lima!"

She feels her eyes start to water, and _she _can't even tell if she's faking. He stares at her, squinting, and then he kind of glares at her and shakes his head.

"Jesus _fucking _Christ..." he mumbles, and then she watches as he goes back to his truck and turns it off. She waits for him to return, and all he does is shove her shoulders a little bit. "Are you trying to fucking freeze to death? Get your ass in the house!"

She does as she's told and runs back up the steps of her porch and into her house. She's shivering, and her feet feel like they're two seconds away from falling off. He's staring at her soaking wet socks when he follows her a second later and pulls the door closed behind him. It's dark in the house, but there's a little bit of light coming in through the window.

"You are really fucking stupid, you know that?" He motions aimlessly at her feet. "That's some dumbass shit right there."

She steps on the toe of one sock and pulls it off, then she repeats the process with the other sock. "Do you have to cuss in _every _sentence you say?" she grumbles, mostly because he's put her in a terrible mood. The fact that her body's about to go into shock doesn't help.

"Probably not. But it'd be fucking boring if I didn't."

Rachel rolls her eyes and says nothing. Instead, she just bends down to pick up the wet socks and looks at him expectantly. When he returns the gesture with a look of confusion, she points out the obvious. "We have to go get new socks."

"_We?"_

"I am _not _going upstairs alone," she says adamantly. "There is no telling what kind of serial rapist or murderer or Vocal Adrenaline spy is up there."

"It's not like you've never invited one of _those _into your bedroom before."

She glares at him, but he just raises an eyebrow, and she thinks he's probably daring her to contradict him. She won't. It's sort of true. Okay, _very _true. But she's still adamant that Jesse was never a spy. He was just an asshole.

He goes with her upstairs to put on warm socks, and it's pitch black in the hallway and stairwell. He uses his phone to light their path, and at one point, she misses a step and nearly sends them both falling backwards to their death. Or at least to a multitude of broken bones. Her room is just as dark, and he follows her over to the dresser, holding his phone over her open drawer as she digs for a new pair of dry socks.

"Your panties and shit in there, too?" he asks without even a hint of embarrassment, and if he didn't normally say things like that, she might be embarrassed herself. He does, though. A lot. He sexually harasses her (and every other girl) on a daily basis- it's funny how he doesn't bug her the same way Jacob does.

She shoves against him. "Shut up," she says, not really meaning it but not _not _meaning it, either.

He laughs and falls down on her bed heavily. His absence once again leaves her in total darkness, and despite the fact that he's just a few feet away, she still feels uneasy. She grabs the first pair of socks her hands fall on and hurries over to join him on the bed. She can see him a little better now, and she pulls the socks on and relaxes.

"It's dark," she muses, crossing her legs underneath her.

"You're a fucking genius." She gives him an F-You look, and he just laughs. "Don't you have some candles or something up here? Shit you light trying to seduce Finn and shit?"

That doesn't amuse her at all, and she's sure it's evident on her face. Finn is a sore subject, and Puck knows it probably better than anyone. It doesn't bother him, of course, because he'll do or say just about anything to piss her off. Picking on her is his favorite past-time, and it's only gotten worse over the years, even as it's stepped away from slushie facials and name-calling and into something else entirely. Sometimes it makes her head hurt trying to figure it out. Trying to figure _him _out.

"Let's play Truth or Dare," he says out of nowhere, and she can't tell if he's slyly trying to apologize for being a jerk without really apologizing or if he honestly just doesn't give a crap. Either way, she shakes her head.

"No way."

"You're scared."

"I'm not _scared. _That's a stupid game. And anyway, what dares can you do in pitch dark anyway?"

She can barely see him, but that eyebrow quirk is more than evident. She groans out loud and shakes her head.

"No dares," she says seriously.

"So just truth."

She doesn't even want to do _that, _but he will make her life hell until she gives in, so she just agrees to it.

"Okay... _Truth," _he says, and she can tell he's planning to embarrass her just by the way his voice sounds way too excited. "Who was your first kiss?"

She already doesn't want to play this game, and she feels inexplicably like she's twelve years old. Not that she ever really played this when she was twelve, but she's pretty sure that's what age it's designed for. "Finn," she finally says, deciding she might as well just play along.

Puck's staring at her, and even though it's dark, she can tell that wasn't the answer he was expecting. "He was not," he tells her, like somehow he knows more about her kissing history than she does of her own. "You kissed _me _before you kissed him."

But Rachel just shakes her head.

"Okay, _when _did you kiss him then?"

"Aren't you only allowed one question at a time?" Rachel sighs a little.

"Just answer the fucking question."

Her eyes flutter upward. She doesn't know _why _she's even humoring this. "When he was dating Quinn," she admits, her voice dropping a little.

Puck just kind of stares at her. "Before or after she got knocked up?"

Rachel thinks they should just stop this game. It's going to make her end up sounding like a slut.

"Both."

"Oh, that's awesome." He doesn't sound serious in the least. In fact, he kind of sounds pissed off.

"What?"

He shakes his head. "He cheats on some chick he thinks is pregnant with his kid, but you kiss somebody else and you're what? Like Satan?"

Rachel blinks, mostly because she's thought the exact same thing on a hundred different occasions. She's just never heard anyone else say it before. Probably because it's supposed to be a secret.

"He told me not to tell anyone," she says quietly. "So don't... tell anyone."

Puck kind of snorts. "Wow."

"What?"

"Nothing." Then he half-laughs again. "Whatever, I mean, Finn's my boy and shit, but dude's kind of a douche."

"Your turn," she says, changing the subject because she doesn't want to talk about it anymore. "Truth or Dare?"

"I thought we were just playing Truth?"

"Fine." She thinks quickly. "Did you ever love Quinn?"

He doesn't say anything, but if they're going to bring up sore topics about exes, she's not going to let him get away unscathed.

"Like when she was pregnant or what?"

"Ever."

He kind of hesitates, then he shrugs. "Maybe... Probably... I don't know."

She has no idea what the actual answer to the question is, so she just stares at him. Her eyes are well-adjusted to the dark now, and she can see him fairly well. "You said you did. You told her you did."

"How the hell do _you _know?" and he seems kind of affronted.

"Mercedes." There's no need for further explanation.

Puck rolls his eyes. Then he just kind of shrugs. "Whatever. Quinn's a bitch. It was cool when the baby was born, but that's like all it was. She fucking hates me."

Rachel's well aware of the fact that he's avoiding giving an actual answer to the question at all costs. So she changes the subject a little bit. "What about the baby?"

"What about her?"

"Do you wish she was still here?" She's probably crossing some line. She doesn't really care. He asked her fifty questions on his turn, so it's only fair.

If Puck's pissed at her question, he doesn't let on. He looks a little bit uncomfortable, but he just shrugs again. "Sometimes. But sometimes I think how fucked it would be if she was..."

She kind of gets the feeling that it's the first time he's ever said that out loud. She wonders if he realizes that it bothers her. She wonders if it's _fair _that it bothers her.

"Why did you pick her?" The question is quiet, and she doesn't mean to actually _ask _it. She wants to take it back right away.

"Who?" He's confused, and she doesn't blame him. She could lie, but that'd probably be worse.

"Shelby." She looks down afterwards because even though it's dark, she doesn't want him to see her face.

It's quiet for a second. Maybe he's never even thought about it. She doesn't think anyone's really spent time on the fact that the baby that everyone spent last year obsessing over is now living with a woman who gave birth to her own baby and gave her away. It's probably because it doesn't matter to anyone else.

Rachel's spent a _lot_ of time on it.

"She was there." It sounds so simple. She shouldn't be surprised. "Quinn wanted to get it over with. I don't know."

And that's that.

"This game is stupid." She's the one who says it, and she's just a little surprised when he nods. Maybe they both know it's taken a turn too serious for what it started out as. If they keep going, they're both going to end up depressed, and she's not sure her therapist will make house calls in this weather.

It takes about thirty seconds for Puck to look up at her and raise both of his eyebrows. "Wanna make out?"

She laughs and slaps at his knee as he tries to look as innocent as possible.

"We need to practice. You've been on break for a really long time."

She sees him huff up a little bit, but then he reaches beside her bed and fumbles through the darkness for his guitar.

"Fifteen minutes," he tells her seriously. "Then we take another break."

She has a feeling they'll end up doing exactly that.

… … …

A/N: So maybe that was a little long for a drabble... I get carried away sometimes. Anyway, read, review, leave prompts, etc.- all couples/characters welcome! Thanks!


	2. Want

**WANT**

**Prompt: Sam/Santana**

… … …

Santana likes things she can't have.

She's always been like that. A lot of it comes from being spoiled. Only child, semi-wealthy, doted upon... That's her life. So she likes getting things, and usually she has no problem obtaining them. But when she _can't _have something, she always wants it like crazy.

When she was little, it was always stupid things- a candy bar at the grocery store that her mom refused to buy, a new Barbie when she already had two-hundred, a charm bracelet from Paris like the one Marcie Hinton wore in second grade. Santana ended up with all those things, no matter what her parents or anyone else said. She learned how to steal candy from the supermarket and how to shoplift dolls from Target by slipping them into her backpack. By the time she was fourteen, she was stealing entire _wardrobes _from Macy's. She started out stealing Marcie's charm bracelet in second grade. In fifth grade, she stole her history report and turned it in as her own. In ninth grade, she stole her boyfriend and went down on him in the bathroom at Marcie's fifteen birthday party.

She _always _gets what she wants.

Quinn Fabray has always had _everything. _She's always been the prettiest, the richest, the most popular. She's like some goddamn walking cliché of teenage dream. Santana's always kind of hated her. Yeah, they were friends, but it was never real. They both know well enough to keep your enemies closest, so that's what it's always been. Santana's always felt like Quinn was easier to keep in check when they were friends. She's not stupid enough to think that Quinn employs a more innocent sense of logic.

Quinn may put up an innocent front, but a bastard child with the town delinquent kind of makes that act null and void.

And that's another thing. Who's stupid enough to get pregnant? Jesus, Santana's been fucking Puck since she was fourteen and has never so much as skipped a period. Quinn does it once and ends up knocked up. It'd be hilarious if it wasn't so pathetic. Who gets pregnant at sixteen and doesn't even get anything out of it? At least those stupid whores on _Teen Mom _get paid. Quinn got _nothing _and has _nothing _to show for it.

And yet somehow... Here she is, right back at the top of the pyramid and barking orders at Cheerios practice like she's the fucking queen of the world or something.

Santana hates her.

She loves taking things from Quinn. Last year, she kind of made a habit of it. She took Puck like at least two or three times a week when Quinn was sleeping in his bed and eating his mom's gross cooking for breakfast. She took Finn after he dumped Quinn, and she took _everything _Quinn never got the chance to. She took head cheerleader and did a _much _better job of running the Cheerios than Quinn _ever _did.

And she laughed the whole time Quinn's life was falling apart and smiled to herself everyday while Quinn got fatter and fatter.

But now Quinn's back full-force, and it's stupid and ridiculous, and Santana hates her even more. It's not fair. It's not fair that she can be a slut and get knocked up and have a baby and give the baby away and _still _get head cheerleader back and _still _have her name on the homecoming court ballot. It's just not fucking _fair._

And whatever, Santana doesn't give a shit. Or at least she didn't. Until everything in the whole fucking world started getting screwed up. Quinn got her Bieber boyfriend, Puck went to juvie, Britt started doing _Artie... _Like the whole world just turned upside down or something. Whatever. It was dumb. But yeah, Puck got out, and Santana went right back to fucking him. Brittany kept right ignoring her for the Special Olympics. And Quinn continued right on forward with her boy-band romance.

But, yeah, Puck gets boring after awhile. Well, _boring _is probably the wrong word because he's psychotic and crazy and over the top in like _everything _he does. Everything. But Santana's been there, done that for _so _long that she kind of just wants something different. And Finn is like _way _different. Finn is also _way _attached. But since Santana always gets what she wants, she just works out a plan. And so what if she has to sabotage a relationship and ruin somebody's life in the process? It's not like Rachel Berry is _important. _Like at all.

Finn's into it for like half a second.

She gets him to make out with her, lets him stick his hand under her Cheerios skirt, and tells him he can do whatever. She _knows _he hasn't gotten any since, well, the last time he got it from her. But it's like he doesn't even give a shit. It really pisses her off that she can't seduce him. And normally, she'd just spread a bunch of rumors that call his sexuality into question (after all, he _does _share a bedroom with the Queen of the Gays), but destroying Finn pretty much falls off the radar when she realizes _why _he's not falling for her.

Quinn _fucking _Fabray.

Finn's watching her like all the fucking time, and it's disgusting because what kind of idiot gets hung back up on a girl who lied to him about a _baby? _Forget the fact that he hates Rachel now for kissing Puck, what Quinn did was like a _billion _times worse. But Finn's got his eyes all over her, and it's disgusting. And obviously it's all Quinn's fault.

So Santana decides to fuck Sam.

Sure, he's a dork, and his hair is really stupid, but his body is banging. And she knows for a fact that he's been complaining in the locker room about the fact that his girlfriend won't put out. He's so desperate he pictured Coach Beiste. And that's just disgusting. So Santana's like 99.9 percent positive that she can seduce him without too much trouble. She just has to get him alone.

That's one good thing about glee. It's good for formulating all kinds of fake situations, and since Mr. Schue is pretty much full of shit all the time, there's always going to be some bullshit assignment that can give them good excuses for socializing outside of school. Quinn's _pissed _when Santana immediately says she wants to sing with Sam for the latest project, but obviously that doesn't deter her at all. And Sam's kind of oblivious, so he agrees.

He totally just added another buckle to Quinn's chastity belt, and he has no idea.

So Santana invites herself over to his house, makes sure his parents are at work, and then she goes straight to work. She spends maybe fifteen minutes singing with him, but then she starts making her move. She's done it so many times before that it's not even hard. She touches him, just puts a hand on his bicep, slides a finger across his hand, just little stuff. But she knows she's hot, and she sure the hell knows how to be sexy.

"You know," she says innocently when they're in between runs, "I was head cheerleader last year. Back when Quinn was knocked up with Puck's baby." She throws the last part in there just to remind him that while his girlfriend's got her legs super-glued together where he's concerned, she doesn't mind being a slut for other dudes.

Sam just kind of looks at her, like he _sort of _knows where she's going but isn't positive. She really doesn't want to have to spell it out for him, but she will if she has to. "You're not now," he says needlessly, as though she isn't aware that Quinn snuck back in and stole the title from her in the most under-handed way possible.

"That's only because Quinn sucks up to Coach Sylvester, and I refuse to." It's not totally true, but it's not a total lie, either. Not like it matters much either way. She just wants to make him aware that Quinn's not the _only _popular girl in the school. She's not stupid- she knows that's what it comes down to with him anyway.

"I think Quinn's just a good cheerleader." Sam sounds so whipped, it's practically pathetic. No, it _is _pathetic. Plus, his statement pisses Santana off.

"Whatever. She's a good _bitch _maybe. She's not better than anyone else on the team."

If he's mad that she called his girlfriend a bitch, he doesn't show it. He's just kind of staring at her, and it would freak her out if she wasn't used to guys staring.

"Has she given it up yet?" Santana jumps straight to the point. She thinks it'll just be easier all the way around this way.

Sam looks like he doesn't know what to say to that. He blinks a few times and looks uncomfortable.

"Look," she breaks in. "I know she's not. She doesn't like you enough. She's only with you because she's trying to reinstate some fucked up goody two-shoes image that she lost when she lied to Finn about the baby. But now that he's dumped his garden gnome girlfriend, he'll be back with Quinn in like no time. You should just dump her first before she dumps you."

"She's not going to dump me." He doesn't sound nearly as confident as he'd probably like to.

Santana makes a point to laugh, mostly because she knows how self-conscious he is, and she wants to get under his skin. "She doesn't even really _like _you. She's just been using you because you're the only one who wasn't around last year to see her when she was fat."

Sam's confused, but she's breaking him. She can tell. "That's not true."

"Quinn's all about image. If Finn's open, she'll choose him any day. You're not the quarterback, you're not even _on _the basketball team. You're just the new kid."

She can tell he kind of believes her, probably because he's all about image, too, and he and Quinn have just been using each other anyway.

"Quinn's going to dump you," she says flatly. "You should hook up with me in the meantime, that way you'll have something to throw in her face later." She stands up and moves, one leg on either side of his knees until she's practically _straddling _him. He looks pretty much terrified as he stares up at her.

She's not surprised. She knows she can be intimidating.

"I should probably go," he says nervously, and it's obvious that he has no idea how to _do _that now that she's straddling his lap. She makes it even more difficult when she actually sits down.

"I won't tell her." It's a lie. She _will _tell her. Eventually. She'll just wait for the right moment like she did with Rachel and Finn. If that right moment happens to be tomorrow, then so be it. Sometimes she has trouble waiting when Quinn's involved.

"Santana, I..."

Santana just smiles at him. It's almost cute how terrified he is right now.

"You know," she says, slowly sliding a hand up his arm and across his chest, "you have the _hottest _body in the whole school." He looks at her, and she smiles again. "So do I."

And then she reaches around and drags the zipper of her shirt down her side, letting it fall to the floor. She's not shy at all. She loves the way his eyes practically bug out of his head as he stares at her, completely unable to look her in the eye, of course.

"I told you I was hot." She says nothing, nothing comprehensible anyway. "You can touch if you want."

She's sitting there in a bra and a Cheerios skirt, and because of her position, she knows he's about two seconds away from coming in his pants. She can't decide if that would be an even better story than actually fucking him. When he makes no move to, well, _move, _she grabs one of his hands from where they're tightly gripping the edge of the bed and brings it to her chest. He still can't look anywhere else, but his fingers move slightly, and she knows she's got him.

"They're fake, right?" He's almost whispering, and if his question wasn't so terrible, she might think it was cute. But as it is...

"_Excuse me?"_

Sam finally looks up, and there's panic in his eyes. He stares at her, obviously realizing what he's just said and why he shouldn't have said it. "I just mean... I just heard... I'm not trying to be rude."

"What psycho planet do you come from where you think asking a girl if her tits are real isn't _rude?" _He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. "And if you say Pandora, I swear to God I will knee you in the fucking balls."

Once again, he opens his mouth, but then he shuts it and kind of looks at her in awe. "You know what Pandora is?"

She rolls her eyes. "Um, I wasn't _dead _for the last two years."

He smiles at her a little. It sort of freaks her out. "Well, it's actually a _moon, _but... yeah."

And Santana rolls her eyes again. She is _not _in the mood for dork lessons. So she decides to cut the cord on that one immediately.

Before he can say another word, she kisses him. Hard. And she's still got his wrist, so she pulls it even more tightly against her boob. To add an extra little flavor, she twists her hips just a _tiny _bit and hears him actually _moan _into her mouth. And it amuses the fuck out of her. He must be _really _hard up.

"Are you a virgin?" she asks, pulling away from the kiss just as quickly as she moved in for it. Sam just stares at her, and she can tell he's nervous all over again. Possibly even embarrassed. He's not going to answer, so she just smirks. "Oh, my god, you are."

"I went to an all boys school," he mumbles, and she thinks it's kind of cute how immediately shy he can turn out of nowhere. Of course, she's probably not making him feel totally at ease with the situation, either, but she has to amuse herself somehow.

"Are you gay?"

He raises an eyebrow, but it doesn't look nearly as sexy as when Puck does. Mostly it looks like a puppy begging for table scraps. "Uh, no..." A beat passes, and then he says, "Why does everyone think that?"

"Your hair is gay."

He gives her a look that she assumes is supposed to be a scowl or a glare, but it's pretty pathetic. She just rolls her eyes.

"Look. I'll have sex with you if you want."

"I have a girlfriend."

"Yeah, one who's never going to give it up!" She laughs at how pathetic it all is. "And then when she dumps you, you'll be waiting all that time for nothing! And she _will _dump you."

"Santana..."

Oh, enough with the bullshit. She reaches behind her and unclasps her bra. Then she drops it somewhere beside her shirt and stares at him. He's staring at her, too, and she wonders if it's the first time he's ever actually seen a pair of boobs in person. Either way, it's still the best five grand she (well, her _parents_) ever spent.

She kisses him again, leaning her weight forward to push him backwards to the mattress. He obviously gets over some of his shyness because he's got both hands on her now, and even though he has _no _idea what he's doing, she's sure he's enjoying himself. He's used to all that stupid lips only forever and then slow and sweet kissing that Quinn probably does, but Santana doesn't play that game. She's all tongue and teeth, and he's into it pretty quickly. She can feel all those muscles under her hands as they molest each other, but it's not really fair that she's the only one without a shirt. So she tugs at his, yanking until he lifts up a little bit and lets her take it off.

His body really _is _the hottest.

She grabs his wrists and pulls them away, so they can feel chest to chest, and he can find out how good it is. She moves his hands back around to her ass and lets him feel that, too. She doesn't need any surgical enhancement in that area- good genes. He needs to appreciate it. He's making all kinds of novice noises in his throat, but she's used to it and thinks it's kind of funny. He's _totally _into it, and she really can't wait to tell Quinn. Pulling up from the kiss just a little bit, she reaches between them and starts working on his jeans, and if he's nervous, he doesn't show it. He just lays there and watches her, his eyes darting down her body to her hands, and then she smiles at him sweetly before kissing him and slipping a hand into his boxers.

He freezes almost instantly, and she feels all of him tighten in shock. And then...

"_Fuck..."_

He's got his eyes squeezed shut, but she's glaring at him anyway. She _hates _messes, and any self-respecting man should know better.

"Gross," she says hatefully, pulling her hand out and wiping it across the front of his jeans, careful not to get anything on her skirt.

He looks mortified, and he should be. He's not thirteen. That's just disgusting.

Santana gets up and leaves him there, pants undone and looking like he wants to die. She grabs her clothes and puts them back on, wiping her hand again on his bedspread before she actually touches her things. Sam opens one eye and watches her, she's sure just to get one last look at her tits.

"Next time, rub one out before I come over," she snaps. "Grow up and learn how to control that shit."

Both eyes are open now, and he's looking at her like he's probably confused as to why she's offering to come over again. She's not surprised. He probably thinks she'll never want anything to do with him again. But he's wrong because she wants him now.

And she always gets what she wants.

Besides, she needs a better story to tell Quinn.

… … …

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	3. Loser

**LOSER**

…

Puck doesn't consider himself a loser.

He's not a loser, okay? He's still a badass. People are still scared of him. He could still get any girl in the whole school.

But he doesn't have any girl in the whole school. What he _has _is a face-full of grape slushie and a renewed chip on his shoulder.

It's fucked. Like completely. He doesn't know how the hell he ended up here, and while he's scrubbing the flavored ice off his face, all he can think is _what the fuck. _Seriously, _what the fuck. _This is all crap, the whole thing. He shouldn't be the one getting the slushies- he's supposed to be the one _giving _them. Or at least that _used _to be his thing. He hasn't thrown one in over year, and he kind of can't see himself ever really doing it again honestly.

But still. _What the fuck._

Only losers get slushied.

…

"Loser Like Me" isn't the greatest song in the history of the world, but it's okay.

It's fun anyway. It's got a good beat, and they have fun singing it and acting goofy. Nobody's looking at it like it's going to win some Grammys or anything, so they don't have to take it too seriously. They can just act like dumbasses and sing it and enjoy themselves. It's kind of cool.

He works on the music end of it. He works on the beat and the instruments with Finn and Sam and Artie, but he doesn't fuck around with the lyrics. He leaves that to Tina and Mercedes and Lauren. Brittany and Mike start working on choreography. Santana doesn't do shit except sit in her seat with her arms crossed looking pissed off. She's had something up her ass for a few weeks now, but he doesn't care enough to ask. Or maybe he kind of cares, but he can't fucking _deal _with Santana right now.

She does open her mouth, though, when the song's ready and Mr. Schue gives the first verse to Rachel. She says it's not fair that Rachel didn't even do anything for this song and still gets lead. It's Artie who tells her to stop bitching because she didn't do anything, either.

Santana for real looks like she might cut him.

The song's good enough to win Regionals. Maybe it's not the best song ever, but it's better than that Jesus crap. And better than Kurt and the Warblers singing about being some dirty little freaks in their freshly-pressed uniform blazers. So they come in first and get to go to New York.

Being "Losers" actually makes them winners.

...

Lauren Zizes only knows how to win.

She's like some mega wrestling champion or something. Puck might know the exact title if he paid attention to wrestling, but he's always found it pretty gay. She's a girl, though, so that's kind of _less _gay. But whatever, she's like some star and can go pro right after high school and shit. He thinks that's cool. It's not like McKinley's turning out a ton of star athletes or anything. Hell, he's on the upper-rung, and he's sure as hell not getting professional offers. He probably won't even get _scholarship _offers.

So it's cool.

The first time someone calls her a "glee loser," she shoves them into a locker and punches so low to the gut that she nearly takes out a testicle. It's pretty awesome.

Clearly, she's not going to be a loser.

…

Santana calls him a loser one day after glee when he won't go home with her.

He doesn't give a fuck if her parents are out of town for the night. Maybe that kind of _does _make him a loser because who turns down an empty house and a chance to fuck a hot chick? But whatever. Santana's got a boyfriend, and he's sick of being the dude girls always want to cheat with. He used to think it was kind of cool, but now he kind of thinks they only seek him out like that because they know he won't turn down sex and also because they know he's a shitty enough person to do it.

It's always his friends' girls who do it- never just like random chicks. So yeah. Shitty friend.

But he doesn't really want to be that guy anymore. He doesn't _like _being a shitty friend or a shitty person. He just wants to be... maybe not a _good _guy, but at least like a _decent _one. Somebody that his mom can kind of be proud of. Yeah, he knows he sounds like a girl, but whatever. He's been a douchebag since he was like nine, and it's never really gotten him anywhere.

And Sam's his boy. He's a good kid. Kind of dumb, but not like _Finn-_dumb. He's totally naïve, though, and like way not badass enough to go from Quinn to Santana. Quinn's a bitch, but Santana's like a million times worse. Santana's _crazy, _like psychotic. Like cut your dick off while you're sleeping psychotic. And no way Sam's prepared to deal with all that.

So Puck's not gonna like speed up the inevitable and make it worse by helping Santana cheat. She's gonna break that kid one way or another, and he doesn't really want to be a part of it. It's fucked up because that shit used to be fun. But then it kind of stopped being fun around the time his best friend's girlfriend got knocked up. It was even less fun when he was making out with Rachel last time and could literally _feel _her tears on his cheek. Then it was just kind of sad.

Shit, maybe he _is _a loser.

…

Two days after Santana calls him a loser for not fucking her, Lauren finally lets him get to second base.

It's pathetic, of course, because the last time he was excited about getting to second base, he was literally a Little Leaguer. But whatever. He's been holding off waiting for this, and it's about damn time.

It's kind of less exciting than he imagined. She's a good kisser, and her tits are huge, but it's not like some mind-blowing experience or something. But he likes her. Kind of a lot. It's weird, and he doesn't even know why. But it's different. And it's cool.

Lauren's not like Santana or any of those other girls. She might be just as bitchy, but she doesn't really do it to be _mean. _She's just kind of... _honest. _So maybe that's why he likes her so much. Maybe he doesn't know too many people that are really that _real. _So he digs it. She's just _real, _and he can appreciate that.

So when she pushes him away and tells him he's just not doing it for her and that maybe he needs more practice, he's pretty sure he really _is _a loser.

…

Being girlfriendless has never made him feel like a loser.

If anything, he's better when he's single. Because he's a stud, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants. That's the thing, he kind of takes relationships seriously, so if he has a girlfriend, he really doesn't cheat.

(Except that one time he fucked Quinn while he was dating Santana, but God kicked his ass for that one so he's not doing a repeat).

(Oh, and also the whole time he was "dating" Quinn, but she hated him and wouldn't put out, so totally doesn't count).

But whatever, it's way better to be single. He can have his pick of the girls and take whoever he wants (or all of them). Or he can go fuck somebody's mom and get her off the way her hubby isn't able to. It's called freedom, and he likes it.

Except... Chicks aren't _into _him anymore.

He realizes this when he's at a party the night after Lauren disses him. He tries to hook up with this Cheerio (Amy? Amanda? Something...). But she's not into him like at all. He pulls all his best moves, and she finally tells him, "I don't _fuck _glee losers."

And seriously. _What the fuck? _He's been in glee for like a year and a half, and the Cheerios haven't turned him down yet. The second she says it, though, something flips inside of him, and he feels his old self slipping through. When he hears himself saying, "Whatever, I don't fuck ugly girls anyway," he thinks there's no _way _he's a loser.

Santana's sitting by herself, drinking the contents of her red plastic cup _way _too fast, but when he drops down beside her and steals her drink, she doesn't even argue. He tells her about Amy/Amanda, and she just rolls her eyes.

"They're pissed at me and Britt and Quinn." He just looks at her, and she steals her drink back. "No Nationals, remember?"

And then it makes sense. The Cheerios blame glee for their own fucking failure. It makes sense, but it's retarded.

"Shit, San. Fucking cock-blocking and shit."

She just kind of smiles and shrugs as she turns her drink back up. It's kind of the happiest she's looked in weeks, but he's sure she'll be crying in no time, just as soon as the vodka has a chance to hit her bloodstream. Whatever, she looks cute right now.

He doesn't think she's a loser, and if she's not, then he sure as hell doesn't have to be.

…

Lauren sends him a text on Sunday that says _hey, loser, where you been?_

Okay, he's seriously getting tired of people calling him a loser. He texts back and tells her it's none of her damn business, and then she calls him and cusses him out over voicemail. She sounds kind of scary, so he calls her back, and then she cusses him out over the phone.

Apparently she didn't dump him. Which is weird because he's pretty fucking sure that saying, _"You just don't do it for me. And you need more practice," _is dumping.

"You _do _need more practice," she argues when he points this out, and what the every-loving hell...

"Okay, look, I _have _practice. I have a _lot _of fucking practice."

"Being a slut doesn't make you good at what you do. It just makes you easy."

He almost shoots back with _I'm not a slut! _It's what girls always do when he says that shit to them. And then it fucking slaps him in the face.

Karma is a bitch, and he probably fucked her and called her Karen in bed.

Lauren tells him to come over and help her with some glee stuff. She wants to sing some song he's never heard of and doesn't really care to learn. But he's bored, so what the hell.

She doesn't call him a loser again.

…

Somebody writes _DYKE _in huge letters across Rachel's locker, and he realizes the only people he gives a shit about anymore are "losers."

It's fucked up because Rachel has like seriously never done anything to anyone (except be crazy and bossy and annoying and loud as hell, but whatever). People have been making up rumors about and spreading them for years, so it's not like it's something new. He used to never pay attention to that crap. He probably would have _laughed _at it a couple years ago. He might have even written it.

Yeah, he was a loser...

But now it just makes him mad, and he wants to bash the head in of whatever fucker did it because seriously? Not cool. Everyone's pretty upset about it. Santana especially, which is like for _real _crazy because Santana hates Rachel. But she's going off in Spanish so fast and furious that even Mr. Schue looks confused, and he's the freaking Spanish teacher. Then she's scrubbing at the black sharpie like it did something to personally offend her. It's weird as crap, but nobody mentions it.

Rachel acts like it doesn't bother her, and that pisses him off because it _should _bother her. It shouldn't be some kind of normal everyday occurrence. She should want to rip somebody's junk off and choke them with it. But she just looks a little annoyed and then shrugs her shoulder.

He kind of wants to hug her, but it doesn't really make him feel like a loser.

…

He finds out which loser did the vandalizing, and he almost gets expelled when the idiot ends up with a broken nose and locked in the gym closet for four hours.

And okay, so yeah, he should know better. Violence is never the answer, blah blah blah. But he's sick of this shit, and no fucking _hockey _player (or anyone else for that matter) is gonna fuck with them anymore and get away with it. Rachel's just little. She can't take care of herself. He never got the chance to fuck up that Vocal Adrenaline prick's face last year, but there's no teacher around to stop him this time.

So he takes out a little too much frustration. So what? Fucker deserves it.

When Devon Maxwell finally gets out of the closet (literally- ha), he tells Coach Beiste that Puck did it. She finds him in geography (or maybe geometry... he's half-asleep) and reads him the riot act all the way to the office. She tells him he's a dumbass and that he's screwing up all his chances by being an idiot and that he's going to be lucky not to be sent back to juvie and _how could you be so stupid?_

That's a question he always chooses to ignore. His mom doesn't even ask anymore.

And anyway, it doesn't matter because all he can think about is that yeah, he's totally going back to juvie for this. _Fuck. _Why _is _he so stupid?

Figgins is in some meeting, so they have to stand outside the office and wait. Beiste keeps going off on him, and he keeps ignoring her. He's pissed now because he's imagining moving back to that hellhole and eating that nasty food and being around all those idiots. It _sucks. _He's been like for real trying to change a little bit, but then he just fucks it all up because some jackass wants to pick on a teeny tiny little girl.

Lauren walks by, and he doesn't even notice her until she says, "What'd you do, Puckerman?"

Coach Beiste decides to answer for him. "He decided to screw up his life to get in a fight! Why don't you tell him what a freaking _idiot _that makes him?"

Puck scowls because he seriously doesn't need somebody else telling him what a fuck up he is. But Lauren just kind of scrunches up her face a little bit. "Who? Maxwell? Puck didn't hit that kid, I did."

Coach just stares at her. Puck raises an eyebrow but keeps his mouth shut. Lauren looks like she doesn't give a crap one way or the other.

"_You _hit him?"

"Yeah." She shrugs. "He deserved it. Did you see what he did to Berry's locker?"

Lauren gets suspended for two days, but no one goes to juvie. He goes to her house and takes her some lasagna his mom made, and they watch WWE on cable. This wrestling isn't as gay as the kind they do in school where all the dudes molest each other and get in position to take it from behind. This is sorta cool, and people like get their teeth knocked out with chairs and shit.

He tells her how much he appreciates it and how he would have been fucked, and she tells him to, "Grow a pair and stop acting like a little bitch." He just laughs because she's funny. _And _she's kind of awesome. Actually, everything's kind of awesome. Rachel shows up and brings a plate of Thank You cookies. He's not really sure if they're for him or if they're for Lauren, but he eats them anyway because they're awesome, too.

Maybe being a loser doesn't _totally _suck because at least he's not alone.

…

A/N: Hahaha, Let me end this by saying that I don't get the Puck/Lauren thing... I'm filling a request, and I'm not sure I did at all what was actually asked of me. But I tried... And, of course, I threw in a dash of Puckleberry!


	4. Puppies

**PUPPIES**

…

"Puppies?"

He's not really sure he heard her right, but Rachel's standing there, nodding her head and looking even a little crazier than usual.

"Yes, puppies."

"_Puppies?" _he asks again because, seriously, there's just no way.

"Yes, Noah. You know, small dogs? _Puppies."_

"Why the hell do you need me to go kidnap a dozen puppies?"

She sighs. Dramatic as shit, of course. "I didn't ask you to _kidnap _them." She chews her lip for half a second. "Well. I _do _need you to round up several, but I'd prefer it if you at least went about in a legal manner."

"I'm not rounding up _shit _for you until you tell me why you need a bunch of dogs."

Rachel's eyes roll. She's clearly not amused. He wonders if she knows how hilarious she looks when she does that crap- like even a freaking _eye roll _is a damn performance or something. Still, that many dogs is a crazy request, even for her. He has some weird flash of her wearing a puppy skin coat and singing. He shakes the image of Cruella De Vil and just raises his eyebrows.

"They're for _Mercedes," _she finally says, and he can tell that she hates having to give any kind of explanation for anything. "She needs them for the benefit."

"She's using _dogs _in her song? What if they, like, shit all over the stage or something?"

And then she's rolling her eyes again, shaking her head like _he's _the lunatic here. "They're for her dressing room." She's speaking slowly and kind of like she thinks he might be a mildly retarded five year old or something. "She specifically requested a litter of puppies, and that's what she needs to find when she arrives Saturday."

Okay, hold up. Her _dressing room? _He doesn't even process the rest of that shit, he gets hung up on the first part. "She's got her own _dressing room?"_

"Of course, Noah. She's a star."

"I have to change in a bathroom with four other dudes, and this bitch gets her own _dressing room?"_

"First of all, don't call her that. It's extremely disrespectful." He just looks at her, but she goes right on. "Secondly, when stars make demands, they deserve to have them met adequately. If Mercedes doesn't have her demands met, there's a chance she might not even perform."

He can't believe this shit.

"So if I tell you to blow me and threaten to boycott the show if you don't? You'll do it?"

Rachel's eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms. "Noah, be serious," she says, huffing a little bit.

He _is _serious. Kind of.

"You're not even performing a solo at the benefit. You're hardly in the position to start making demands. And regardless, I refuse to trade sexual favors for professional purposes. That's one line I will not cross."

"Figures." She kind of looks like she might kill him, so he backs off. Sort of. "Well, what the fuck ever. Just because she's a bitchy black girl doesn't mean she's Beyonce. She don't need no goddamn puppies."

Rachel blinks. Then like a second later, she shakes her head. "I don't know what was more offensive in that sentence- your language, your grammar, or your _racism."_

It _was _kind of racist. But whatever, it's the damn truth. _Puppies? _Hell to the no.

"Let me explain something to you, Noah." Her slow person tone is back, and this time, she actually takes his arm and moves him a little until she's sitting him down on the piano bench in front of her. "When a star makes a request, that request needs to be filled. Talent is not something that should be taken for granted. Neglecting talent..." She shakes her head. "Take it from me. I _know _what it's like to be neglected and under-appreciated." He rolls his eyes, but she doesn't even notice. "Luckily, I'm very resilient. I can bounce back from negativity and overlook the disrespect that my talent receives because I already know my entire future. For someone less... _focused, _being neglected could mean disaster. Mercedes needs to have her demands met in order to feel appreciated. We _owe _it to her."

Okay, like seriously. Sometimes he wonders if she can even _hear _herself when she opens her mouth. He can't even say anything back to that because what the fuck? He's speechless.

"If Mercedes has all of her requests fulfilled, she'll deliver a wonderful performance. It won't be as good as mine, of course, but it will still be amazing."

He can't do anything. All he can do is just shake his head. He can't even believe she's _real _half the time. She's like seriously the craziest person he's ever met in his entire life.

"Noah." She gives him one of her psycho smiles and does that thing where her eyelashes flutter for half a second, and then she puts a hand on his shoulder. It's kind of scary having her actually looking down. "One day, you, too, will be in a position of performing a coveted middle spot number in an important talent showcase, and there will be things that you will require. Try to put yourself in those shoes."

"I can guarantee you I won't be asking for fucking _puppies." _

"Well, perhaps puppies aren't your cup of tea, but Mercedes specifically requested them. As she is the demanding star in question, it is up to us to provide them. So will you help me?" She tries the smile again, but he doesn't give a shit how cute she is- it's not that easy.

"Why the hell would I go grab some pound puppies for nothing? What am I getting out of this whole thing?"

"You're helping a teammate. You're doing it for the _team. _For our team _and _for the Brainiacs. For your _friends, _Noah."

Sometimes he thinks somebody should just put her in a box and ship her to Alaska or something. She's really little and not heavy at all, so it probably wouldn't cost that much postage. But then other times, she makes like random weird sense, and it's scary as fuck.

"Fine," he finally says, rolling his eyes to show that he is _not _that down as he stands up. It feels better being taller than her again. "But I'm just warning you that if you don't do all this shit for _me _when _I _ask for it, I'm gonna be really pissed."

"I will," she promises. "I swear."

Then she actually fucking _squeals, _bounces on the balls of her feet for like three seconds, and then launches herself at him and throws both arms around his neck.

"Thank you!" she says excitedly. "You're the _best!"_

Certainly not the first time he's heard _that._

He almost makes the requisite _that's what she said _joke, but Rachel's pulling out of the hug before he can even get it together.

"Fluffy puppies," she says seriously. "Try the pound first. Please don't _steal _anything."

He just rolls his eyes. "You're lucky you're just the right mix of cute and scary."

Rachel smiles again, her eyes lighting up, and he kind of hates himself for being such a douchebag. He doesn't know where he left his balls, but he seriously needs to start looking for them again because this shit is just getting ridiculous. Fuck his life. For real.

Two hours later, the lady at the pound looks at him only slightly suspiciously when he asks to adopt the entire litter of recently orphaned Pomeranians, and he knows for _sure _that his balls are officially a thing of the past.

Oh, well.


End file.
